


Seven Minutes in Heaven

by airedis



Series: Kiss and Tell [1]
Category: N.Flying (Band)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Self-Discovery, Trapped In A Closet, jaehyun hweseung and dongsung are mentioned/appear briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23610145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airedis/pseuds/airedis
Summary: All in all, it’s kind of nice - for being trapped in a closet, that is.
Relationships: Cha Hoon/Lee Seunghyub | J.DON
Series: Kiss and Tell [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699441
Comments: 14
Kudos: 69





	Seven Minutes in Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> this was finished ages ago and then the world got weird. dunno if this helps much but here it is

Hweseung is hot on their heels, thundering down the hallway behind them. They turn a corner, Seunghyub’s grip iron around Hun’s wrist as he drags him forward. Hun stumbles behind him, his feet tripping over themselves in his haste to get away. The squeaky screech of sliding shoes floods the corridor, bouncing off the tiled floor, alerting them to Hweseung’s approaching presence.

Picking up the pace, Seunghyub sprints forward around another corner, nearly knocking his shoulder full into the wall. He clips it anyway, hissing as the bone connects briefly, hoping that Hun manages to swing wide. From the low, cut off grunt, Hun wasn’t able to avoid it either.

Up ahead, there’s a lone room in the hallway. It may be their only chance to lose Hweseung. With a hope and a prayer, Seunghyub grasps the handle. The door wrenches open in his grip and he bowls inside, Hun stumbling in behind him. It’s much less a room than it is a closet of some sort, tiny and dark. Seunghyub barely has space to turn around but there’s no time left to find anywhere else to hide.

He gets the door shut with nothing more than a quiet click just before the clatter of Hweseung rounding the corner sounds out through the hall.

Squeezed between Hun and some shelf, Seunghyun holds his breath and waits, listening. Hweseung’s footstops pound past them, eventually fading away as he chases their phantom memory, not knowing he’s already lost them. Seunghyub releases a breath, shoulders sagging as he feels Hun untense beside him. That was close.

The absurdity of the situation catches up to him and Seunghyub snorts, breaks out into full blown, muffled laughter when he feels Hun’s shoulders hitch. He stifles the noise behind his hands as best he can, only shaking harder when Hun slaps at his arm. But Hun’s laughing too, his breath hitting Seunghyub’s face in warm puffs. They lean into each other, hanging on for stability as they try to quell their choked laughter.

It subsides after some time. Dispersing into the air as they attempt to finally catch their breaths. Seunghyub’s lungs are burning and he straightens, trying to ease the stitch in his side. He can only imagine how much worse Hun must be feeling it, and his thoughts are confirmed when Hun lets out a wheezing cough, the grating noise dampened against the sleeve of his shirt.

His elbow knocks against Seunghyub’s sternum as he coughs, and Seunghyub tries to back up only to find that he has nowhere else to go. Maneuvering slightly, Seunghyub raises a hand and feels around blindly until he can pat at Hun’s back until the coughing stops.

“Let’s get out of here,” is the first thing he says, the words rasping out from his dry throat.

Seunghyub nods, belatedly realizing that Hun can’t see him.

“Yeah,” he says instead, hands searching for the door handle in the darkness. He grabs a hold of it and turns the knob - the metal slides and catches, stuck. Seunghyub twists against, now turning the handle back and forth as the lock stays engaged. The knob jangles as Seunghyub twists it in disbelief, rattling metallically.

It doesn’t budge. 

“What’s going on?” Hun’s voice is right at his ear, sounding far too loud in the cramped closet. Seunghyub sighs.

“We’re locked in.”

He turns towards Hun, shoulder bumping the door. Hun huffs in irritation but he’s already moving.

“Well, let’s turn on the light or something at least.”

Seunghyub’s hands sweep over the walls but he finds nothing, the surface smooth in front of him. “I can’t find a switch.”

He steps on Hun’s foot as he shuffles to the side, mumbles out a “ _sorry”_ at Hun’s yelp. Hun moves then, another elbow jamming into Seunghyub’s stomach as he rummages through his pockets. Suddenly, a light shines directly into Seunghyub’s eyes, bright white and blinding. He slams his eyes shut, spots burning against his eyelids. Hun nudges him.

“Use your phone to look for it.”

Feeling like a bit of a fool, Seunghyub pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight. Their lights scan the walls but no switches are to be found. In a stroke of inspiration, Seunghyub even turns his light upwards to look for an old pull cord dangling from the ceiling, but his genius goes unrewarded.

“Okay. So we’re stuck in here,” he sums up, turning to illuminate Hun with his phone.

Hun squints and shields his eyes, promptly saying, “I’m texting Jaehyun and Dongsung.”

“What are you gonna tell them? That we’re locked in some random closet on the third floor?”

“Yup.” His thumbs are already flying across his screen. “And that you’ll put them in a chokehold if they don’t come find us.”

Seunghyub frowns.

“I’m not going to put them in a chokehold.” At Hun’s snort, he asks, “what?”.

“You almost killed Jaehyun over basketball.”

He has a point - but Seunghyub is _much_ more likely to just sit on them until they beg for mercy rather than waste his time trying to wrestle them.

“I’m sending out a group message anyway - I’ll treat whoever finds us first to a meal.”

Seunghyub concedes to the tactic, figuring that’s as good an incentive as any. Hun looks up, slipping his phone back in his pocket.

“So, now what?”

“Now we wait,” Seunghyub says, shrugging. “Might as well get comfortable.”

By the light of Seunghyub’s phone, they cram themselves into the space remaining on the floor that isn’t blocked by overstuffed boxes. Seunghyub is folded up, knees nearly to his chin, his foot trapped beneath Hun’s butt. In front of him, Hun’s legs are twisted to the side, braced against the door. The closet is shallow, hardly wider than Seunghyub’s shoulders, but there’s just enough room for the two of them to sit across from each other, if only they completely ignore the concept of personal space.

“Well, this is cozy,” Hun says drily.

Now that they’re all settled, Seunghyub turns off his light, plunging them back into darkness.

“What are you doing?” Hun sounds even closer with the lights off. Seunghyub shifts, trying to shove his phone back in his pocket of his jeans.

“Saving my battery. Who knows how long it’ll take them to find us.”

A small noise of acknowledgement is all the response Hun gives. The silence lasts approximately twenty five seconds before Seunghyub feels compelled to speak.

“Who do you think will find us first?”

He’s not really that curious but his nerves are still pinging from adrenaline and he needs to find a way to burn them off, so talking it is.

“Probably Hweseung. At least he’ll know where he lost us. Maybe.”

“But he might leave us here as punishment,” Seunghyub counters.

“Then we bribe him.”

In spite of his thrumming energy, Seunghyub lets the conversation drop, his brain too scattered to hold onto any one thought. And so, they sit in dark silence.

Down near the ground like this, he can just make out Hun’s figure in front of him by the light leaking in under the door. It’s not much, but it means he can move around without cracking his chin on Hun’s head or something. Seunghyub shifts, resting his arm on top of a box jabbing into his side. His fingers make a satisfying thump as they make contact with the cardboard.

He taps at the box, absentmindedly drumming out a rhythm. The sound is loud in the quiet, an unhurried pounding to offset the beat of their own hearts. With his thoughts wandering, it takes Seunghyub a while to notice the accompaniment that Hun’s making against his own legs, the slap distant, dulled by the fabric of his jeans. Together, they make a melody so wandering that it can hardly be called a “song”, but it can certainly be called something.

Shelves are digging into Seunghyub’s back, one at the perfect height to knock against the back of his head every time he moves. Beneath Hun, his foot steadily falls asleep. Outside, the world seems to have quieted and faded away, protecting them in the four walled confines of their own personal safe haven. Every breath Hun takes, every miniscule movement, Seunghyub can feel it all. If he listens close enough, he fathoms he can almost hear what Hun is thinking.

All in all, it’s kind of nice - for being trapped in a closet, that is.

He feels Hun move before he sees Hun’s face pop up in stark relief to the darkness, blue light reflecting off his skin as he checks his phone.

“Anything yet?” Seunghyub asks.

Hun’s fingers tap away at the screen, giving away the answer before he even opens his mouth. “Nope. Nothing.”

Seunghyub’s sigh blends in with the rustle of clothing as Hun tucks his phone away once more, skin no longer bathed in blue. Letting his eyes slip close, Seunghyub tips his head back. A board presses uncomfortably into the back of his head but he can’t be bothered to move. He breathes in deeply.

“Imagine you’re standing in front of a door.”

Somewhere close in the darkness, Hun snorts.

“What are you doing?”

Seunghyub runs his fingertips along the inseam of sweatpants, blunt nails catching along a thick fold of denim.

“Come on, just play along. I’m bored,” he says with a touch of weariness. Doing nothing is oxymoronically exhausting.

“Fine. Okay,” Hun says, humoring him.

Seunghyub starts again. “There’s a door. What’s behind it?”

Hun inhales deeply through his nose, falling quiet for a long while. Seunghyub waits.

“There’s a person behind the door,” Hun says eventually. Seunghyub stirs, head listing slightly to the side as he waits. He doesn’t prompt Hun, doesn’t break the moment that Hun’s building. Seunghyub wants to hear where this goes, uninfluenced by outside forces.

“They keep knocking, so I open it. It’s someone I know, someone familiar, but I don’t recognize them. The room is dark, but even if it wasn’t, I don’t think I’d be able to see them well.”

His words are slow, a little reluctant, and his foot bumps against Seunghyub’s leg as he moves.

“The person is blurry or - fuzzy. Like they’re out of focus or something. It’s like I’m seeing them through a dream. Or a memory.” Hun pauses, his voice hesitant. “I don’t know if I want to remember who they are.”

There’s a lull, the atmosphere in the tiny closet pressing in on them almost oppressively before Hun breaks it.

“That’s it.”

The ending is abrupt and graceless but Seunghyub appreciates it nonetheless. He nods, even though he’s sure Hun can’t see it. The idea of holding back a response floats around in his head and he toys with the thought of teasing Hun, letting him stew in silence. Ultimately though, Hun indulged his whims and Seunghyub wants to repay that in kind. Even so, he’s unwilling to shatter the mood by speaking. He doesn’t have to; Hun’s voice comes out first, coating the walls of the closet and dripping down the back of Seunghyub’s shirt.

“What’s behind your door?”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Seunghyub’s lips, his expression relaxing despite the words stewing in his brain.

“My room,” he starts, closing his eyes to see it better. “It’s night and the moon is full. It lights up my room so I can see everything. But it’s raining, coming down hard in sheets that almost rattle the window right out of the frame.”

Seunghyub turns his head, eyes still shut, looking through the window in his mind’s eye.

“The sound is relaxing, like white noise. It’s nice.” He frowns, eyebrows furrowing. “It should be nice, but it’s not.”

Hun shifts, the movement seeming curious in the dark, as if he’s asking Seunghyub, without words, to continue. So Seunghyub does, words slow and voice soft.

“It should be nice but it’s not, because it’s lonely. My room is warm but it’s cold beneath my blanket. I’m waiting for someone but they left and they’re never coming back.”

He breathes in deep, a little shakily, feeling the phantom chill wrap around him like an embrace.

“My room misses that person. _I_ miss them,” Seunghyub finishes, his words lingering in the air, hanging on the silence.

“That’s depressing,” Hun says flatly.

It rouses a surprised laugh from Seunghyub, bubbling up from his chest and spilling out over his lips.

“No more depressing than yours,” he counters, bumping Hun with his foot. It sets off a chain reaction: Hun’s hand shoots out and grabs at Seunghyub’s knee, his fingertips dragging over the bone lightly enough to send a cascade of shivers through Seunghyub, his leg convulsing. The action is purposeful, meant to tickle, attacking Seunghyub’s most vulnerable spot.

This, of course, means war.

He grabs Hun’s hand, snatching the other one up too when Hun scrambles to pull out of Seunghyub’s grasp. His grip is tight, both of Hun’s wrists locked in place between the bars of Seunghyub’s fingers. Hun tries to tug his hands back fruitlessly, his struggle only increasing when Seunghyub shifts his grip to trap both of Hun’s wrists in a single hand. Seunghyub’s free hand flies to Hun’s side, fingers burying in the tender skin below Hun’s ribs. He attacks mercilessly, fingers racing up and down Hun’s side, digging in to render useless the barrier of clothing.

Hun squawks loudly, his wrists jerking in Seunghyub’s hand as he tries to wriggle back from the tickle attack. There’s nowhere to go, his back pressed flush against the wall of the closet while Seunghyub launches a barrage of tickles across his torso. Hun kicks out, his foot catching Seunghyub in the leg, dangerously close to his crotch. He manages to wrench his hands back at that, Seunghyub’s grip faltering in favor of protecting precious goods.

Seunghyub doesn’t keep his hands to himself for long though; now that both hands are free, he engages a double sided attack, coming at Hun from all angles in an act of revenge. Hun screeches as Seunghyub overpowers him, words pouring out of his mouth to fight back verbally against Seunghyub’s physical strength.

“You’re playing dirty!” He shouts, hands uselessly attempting to push Seunghyub back. His stomach contracts against Seunghyub’s fingers’ fluttering beneath his touch. “You’re just doing this because no one wants to date you!”

Seunghyub barks out a laugh, startled. Hun is grasping in desperation at whatever straws he thinks he sees.

“Go date someone and stop being so pathetic and touching Dongsung!”

“He likes it!” Seunghyub protests, unable to hide the laughter in his voice.

“He tolerates it!” Hun struggles against him, legs twisting beneath them. “Go back to kissing your arm!”

With this final declaration, Hun breaks free, dislodging Seunghyun as he pops up. In a fit of irony, Seunghyub smacks his chin on the crown of Hun’s head this time, his teeth clicking together jarringly. His head feels rattled but at least he didn’t bite his tongue. With no space left to run to, Hun remains where he is, a hand massaging his head.

Though he’s not mad, Seunghyub is unwilling to let Hun keep the upper hand. So he climbs on him and sits firmly, practically in Hun’s lap, his hands drawn to Hun’s stomach as if by magnetic force. As his fingers dance torturously across Hun’s torso, Hun bucks beneath him, feet banging into boxes and head thrashing as he attempts to dislodge Seunghyub, all the while screeching with pained, wheezing laughter.

“Take it back!” Seunghyub cries gleefully, a little breathless from adrenaline.

“I take it back! I give up! I was wrong!” Hun cries, sharp and thin like a stretched wire.

He sounds a little hoarse, like his throat is coated in dust. Seunghyub, ever benevolent, withdraws his hands. Hun sags beneath him, body going lax like all the air has leaked out at once. And that does seem to be the case because he pants, shoulders hitching bursts of hot breath hitting Seunghyub’s chest.

Something about seeing - feeling - Hun’s exhaustion makes a wave of it hit Seunghyub himself, his own breath fully drawn from his lungs as the hard fought battle finally comes to a close.

Seunghyub braces a hand against the wall to hold himself up. The action brings him closer to Hun and Seunghyub becomes aware of the situation - him in Hun’s lap, the two of them pressed together close and panting against each other in the dark, cramped closet. It makes it seem like something else entirely. He lets out a choked laugh, the air ruffling Hun’s bangs. Seunghyub can only just make out Hun in the low light and he pushes back a little to bring Hun’s face into focus.

“What?” Hun asks, chest still heaving.

Seunghyub shakes his head, a smile still lingering on his lips.

“If someone walked in here right now,” he says, heart still pounding from the tickle fight. “They’d think we were doing something else.”

Hun snorts, but that’s all it takes to set them both off, bitten off snickers growing into full blown roaring laughter. It bounces off the walls, echoing in the small confines of the closet, ringing through the air like a siren.

Seunghyub lets his arm buckle until his forearm falls flat against the wall, his other hand coming up to grasp Hun’s shoulder, using it as a sort of crutch to keep himself up while laughter wracks his body. He dips his head forward, lets it bump against Hun’s and rest there, too tired to hold himself up on his own. Their foreheads are pressed together, a solid point of connection as they wind down, shaking against each other first in laughter, and then from their labored breathing. Seunghyub is collapsed into Hun, panting once more, breath spent.

Maybe it’s that, or maybe the recycled air has them loopy, but his eyes meet Hun’s and he feels a shocking jolt of warmth streak through him. He doesn’t have a conscious thought, just a sort of dizzy indecision that has his lungs trembling, his chest tight as his heart pounds at light speed, deep and heavy. Seunghyub’s breath catches in his throat and his fingers tighten on Hun’s shoulder.

Hun’s eyes bore into his and Seunghyub realizes there’s no decision to be made, only the inevitable.

It doesn’t matter who moves first when their lips meet all the same, something like a gasp caught between them as Seunghyub’s eyes slide shut. He swallows down the sound, opens his mouth a little more just to feel the press of Hun’s lips against him more firmly. Still, it’s soft, tentative, Seunghyub’s heart beating out of his chest as Hun’s hands come up to fist in the hem of his hoodie.

He loses track of time, doesn’t even bother to try to stay tethered when he can instead get drawn into the slide of their mouths or the gentle, frantic thud of Hun’s heart against his chest.

By some unspoken agreement, they keep it chaste, exploratory, neither willing or perhaps wanting to push things too far. Seunghyub’s hand slides up the back of Hun’s neck, his fingertips skimming over the soft, short strands of hair there. Hun’s skin is warm and he shivers when Seunghyub’s cups his neck. Seunghyub’s hands are cold and he wants to shove them under Hun’s sweater, to feel his stomach constrict against Seunghyub’s chilled touch. But if he does, Hun will pull away and Seunghyub doesn’t want that, not yet.

So he keeps his hands mostly to himself and memorizes the way Hun’s lips drag against his, the heat of Hun’s body kept close to his heart.

In spite of the lingering expectation in the back of Seughyub’s head, no one walks in on them. The hall outside stays as quiet as ever, the phones in their pockets not making a peep as the two of them take their time to catalogue each other’s mouths. It’s some time later before Seunghyub pulls away, stealing one last kiss. Hun blinks up at him slowly, eyes large and round, and Seunghyub sees spots dance across his vision, a little lightheaded from the sight.

They’re both a bit out of breath once more, Seunghyub’s heart a little jittery when he thinks of what just happened. He takes his place against the opposite wall somewhat reluctantly, feeling too cold now that he’s back in his own space among the boxes. He doesn’t want to spook Hun, but it seems like he needn’t worry; Hun doesn’t startle when Seunghyub shifts, his bent legs interlocked with Hun’s, their knees touching. It helps break some of the tension unsteadily building in Seunghyub, and he’s thankful for the proximity.

Hun is fine. _He’s_ fine. This is all going to be fine.

Hun’s hands are covered by his sweater, only his thumb peeking out as it runs back and forth over the knee it’s perched on. Seunghyub watches him, lets the movement sink in before he speaks.

“We should probably talk about this.”

Hun’s thumb pauses for only a second before it resumes its motion.

“Do we have to do it now?”

He doesn’t sound nervous or scared or angry, just a touch reluctant, Seunghyub thinks.

“No, I guess not.” Seunghyub holds back a huff. “But we’re still locked in here and we’ve got nothing else to do.”

Hun sighs noisily, as if Seunghyub pointing out an irrefutable fact is an affront on his very existence. It brings a fond smile to Seunghyub’s lips, his shoulders relaxing. Wanting to lighten the air, to make sure they really _are_ fine, Seunghyub pokes Hun in the side, his hand not darting away fast enough to avoid Hun’s grasp. Hun’s fingers wrap around his, nearly crushing them in his grip as he tugs Seunghyub forward, off balance.

Their mini scuffle somehow leads to a fierce thumb wrestling competition and Hun keeps challenging him again and again, even though Seunghyub wins every time. Hun flashes him a sharp grin, eyes bright even in the darkness, and Seunghyub doesn’t have to let him win, not when Hun laughs as he presses Seunghyub’s thumb beneath his own.

They’re still locking in battle when light floods the closet.

Seunghyub squeezes his eyes shut against the onslaught of fluorescent light pouring in through the open door, an arm coming up to shield his eyes further. A familiar voice rings out loud in the hallway.

“Found you!” Jaehyun says, cheerful, his voice singsong. He smiles down at them, face wrinkling.

Seungyub turns to look at Hun, who’s squinting up at Jaehyun, eyes looking certainly harsher from the light than Seunghyub knows he feels. They clamber out of the closet one at a time and Seunghyub sneaks a look at his phone; the time shows that they’d been locked in for just over an hour. He doesn’t know whether that feels too long or too short for everything that happened.

As the three of them walk down the hall, Hun and Jaehyun argue about Hun’s promise of a free meal, Jaehyun singing loudly as he continues on ahead once Hun agrees to a restaurant. Seunghyub hurries his pace to fall in stride with Hun.

When their hands knock together, Hun turns to look at him, the same question Seunghyub has cutting through his thoughts sitting clear on Hun’s face.

_Are we fine?_

Seunghyub smiles and looks away, bumping his shoulder against Hun’s lightly.

_We’re fine._

The smile hiding on Hun’s lips is small, but Seunghyub sees it anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> points to anyone who can guess what n.flying song inspired their door conversation
> 
> btw i'm quite shy but i've made a [fic twitter](https://twitter.com/airedis9) if anyone would like to pop on by (๑ˊ▵ˋ̥๑)


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